


Fret Not Dear Heart

by aeonwrites



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I hope I tagged everything, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Past, Other, Past Abuse, and holding onto stuff, for all your polyarmorous needs, i have thing for hands, im sorry, implications of non-con, jaskier has a knife and hes ready to cut a bitch, kinda Beta read, modern day witcher au, theres a little bit of blood, they are all so out of character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:29:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23450986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeonwrites/pseuds/aeonwrites
Summary: Someone tweeted something along the lines of what if Jaskier and Geralt were in a relationship and Jaskier caught Geralt and Yen in bed and broke down crying.I liked that, but I think it needed more angst. So I added in some toxicity.But because I'm a big softie and because they deserve it, you all get a happy ending
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 4
Kudos: 89





	Fret Not Dear Heart

Jaskier was not having a good day. To be exact, this was close to one of the worst days of his life. He had been dealing with shitty customers all day an before that, he had a massive fight with his boyfriend Geralt. They had both been on edge for a few weeks now, and it had been bound to escalate eventually. Jaskier had left for work crying and had since ignored Geralt's calls. 

_Oh God, this is all my fault,_ he thought, as he brought plates of food to the table he was waiting. 

“Enjoy your food”, he smiled at the couple. They thanked him and he went off, waiting for the next couple to arrive at the small restaurant. 

_All this fighting is my fucking fault,_ he thought again. _Geralt has needs...I just cannot fulfill them._ And just as he thought his day couldn’t get any worse, he saw a face he never wanted to see again. Jaskier swallowed and straightened his back, plastering a giant smile onto his face. 

“Hi! Good evening, do you have a reservation?”, he asked. The man in front of him smiled. 

“I do, but you know my name don’t you?” 

Jaskier sighed. “I do, unfortunately”, he mumbled, as he looked into the computer system for a reservation. Then he was back to work mode. The young man clapped his hands. 

“Well, let me show you to your table”, he smiled, and walked on, expecting the other man to follow him. And he did follow-- a little too close for Jaskier’s liking. He could feel the hot breath on his neck, and a hand travelling down his space, resting on his butt, squeezing lightly. 

“I’m at work, Valdo”, he hissed, and could practically feel the grin on the other man’s face. His chest got tight, he tried to breathe calmly, but it seemed impossible. Jaskier clutched onto the menu he was holding as he sat the man down. Awkwardly he cleared his throat. 

“I’ll be back in a bit to take your order”, he stated, rushing off into the kitchens. 

He leaned against the cold, tiled wall and desperately tried to get rid of that constricting, choking feeling in his ribcage. There were tears forming in the corners of his eyes but he closed them quickly, holding them at bay. 

“Hey, Jask, are you okay?”, a young woman, Ciri, asked softly. Jaskier nodded, but at the same time, that question made everything more real, and he couldn’t hold any more. Quickly he pressed his forearms over his face and slid down on the ground, a sob ripping from his throat. Ciri hugged him gently.

“It’s okay”, she mumbled. “You’re okay.”

Jaskier could not stop himself from thinking how strange this situation was. Ciri was a teenager, seventeen years old, and the granddaughter of the restaurant’s owner, Calanthe. Jaskier was eight years older, and more or less her best friend. It wasn’t as weird as one would think. It was more of an older brother friendship-- Calanthe had basically adopted him at one point-- but usually it was Jaskier comforting Ciri, cheering her up, helping with her school work, or just taking her into the city to have a fun day. But now he was the one needing comfort and Ciri was happy to provide.

Jaskier nodded and rubbed his face angrily, right as Calanthe entered the kitchen to see them both on the floor. She knelt down in front of them, gently putting a hand to Jaskier’s face. 

“Oh honey, you look like you had a terrible day”, she said in a motherly tone. “What happened?”

Jaskier tried to answer her, but he could only choke on his words. Instead he just pointed to the guest room and Calanthe strained her neck to see what he wanted to show her. Her hand tightened around his jaw for a split second, yet he couldn’t escape the whimper that escaped him. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, sweetheart”, she apologised, drawing her hand back quickly. 

“Will someone tell me what’s going on?”, Ciri asked. There was a slight hint of fear in her voice. She had never seen her-- older brother, one could say-- in a state like this. Well, she had. In a worse state actually. It had been many years ago, Ciri had barely been ten at the time, when her grandmother had decided to take in the young man that had broken into her restaurant, terrified and covered in blood. 

“I’ll explain to you later, Ciri”, Calanthe said sternly. “But for now, watch the man with the red hair and the little scars on his face. Can you see him?” Ciri nodded. “But why--?”, she started. 

“Jaskier, you go home. Go calm yourself, take care of yourself, okay? You know you can ring us any time. And Ciri, if that man gets up, you call Jaskier and you tell him exactly what he is doing", she ordered, pulling the both of them to their feet. Jaskier took a deep breath, opening the red button down of his uniform, revealing a white undershirt. He shrugged the button down off and took a yellow hoodie off the hook next to the door and threw it on. Then he hugged Ciri and Calanthe and disappeared through the back door. 

Jaskier inhaled the mild autumn air, trying to calm his nerves, trying to pretend he was okay. Calanthe wanted him to go home--and he would go, he would never disrespect her wishes-- but home was, except for the restaurant, the last place he wanted to be.

 _How strange,_ he thought, _now that I finally have a home, I suddenly don’t want it anymore._ He was ripped out of his thoughts by his vibrating phone.

“Ciri?”, he asked, feeling the anxiety that had just faded, return to its full glory. His hand tightened unconsciously around the small object in the pocket of his black jeans.

“I-- he just got up and walked to the bathroom. He might be following you”, Ciri said to him, and there was an uncertain distress in her words as if she knew, she should be concerned, but did not know what about. Jaskier swallowed thickly.

“O-okay..Thank you”, he managed before he hung up. He became strangely aware of his surroundings. Every smell, every noise seemed so much more intense and when his ears picked up a quick set of footsteps he panicked. 

_No_ , he told himself. _Be calm. Stand your ground._ He took another deep breath and walked on like nothing had happened, like he wasn’t being followed. Jaskier felt the man getting closer, almost _saw_ it, as if he was watching himself from an outside perspective. Just seconds before the hand could latch onto his shoulder, Jaskier spun around and caught Valdo by the wrist, slamming him against a wall. It was good for once, to be the one that was towering over someone, to be the one in control, the one with the power. 

“Stop following me”, he whispered. And as powerful as he felt, his chest and throat were still tight, and he had to fight to stay straight on his legs that wanted to give out so badly. 

“Or you will do what, baby?”, Valdo asked, his blonde hair falling back from his green eyes as he looked up at Jaskier. Yes, Valdo was quite a bit shorter, but, oh, he had made sure Jaskier knew that being taller still meant he was beneath him. That’s why he wasn’t surprised that Valdo could stare up at him in such a belittling manner. Jaskier lost control over himself for a second. He was eighteen again, he was screaming, begging, but nothing worked. Paralysed with fear. And that’s how he was now the one pressed against the wall. His breath hitched painfully when he felt the hand at his throat. 

“What will you do now, babe?”, Valdo whispered to him. Jaskier shifted uncomfortably, and the small object in his pocket dug into his thigh. He sneaked his hand into his pocket, and pulled it out. The knife flicked open, and Jaskier slashed up at the palm holding him. He could’ve slit his own throat, so close had the knife been to his neck, but he had practiced a million times, and his stroke was strong and sure. Valdo yelped and drew his hand back. But just as quickly, his other hand surged forward and he seized Jaskier’s wrist. 

“Let me go”, Jaskier whispered. “I won’t hesitate to slash your pathetic throat.” He said it, but he didn’t mean it. No matter how much he hated the man in front of him and how much he wanted to hurt him, Jaskier wasn’t cruel. He didn’t have the heart to kill. Valdo knew that. He grinned as he squeezed and twisted Jaskier’s wrist so hard that he yelped as his bones popped and cracked. He dropped the knife. His other hand, though, lurched forward fast and stealthily enough that he caught the knife handle before it could hit the ground. In one swift motion he cut the arm that was holding him with three quick and close slashes. Valdo screamed with pain and fury and released his grip. Jaskier punched him with all the force he could muster in his injured hand, pushed him to the ground and ran. 

He ran as fast as his legs would carry him. It was three miles home, but he told himself he wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t. Jaskier was still holding the knife. He held it by the blade, so that if he was to fall he wouldn’t stab himself. In his panic he gripped the blade tighter than he wanted to, the sharp edges cut into the delicate skin of his palm and blood slowly turned the right sleeve of his hoodie from yellow to red. He didn’t care. He just needed to hold onto _something_ and the only thing he had was that goddamn knife. The blood dripped and Jaskier ran like the devil and all his demons were chasing him.

With his lungs feeling like they were going to explode, his throat raw and on fire, he finally collapsed on the front porch. He knelt on the hard concrete, forehead touched to the ground, his whole body shaking from fear and exhaustion. Jaskier released the grip he had on the knife and after his breathing had calmed a little, he forced himself to his feet, reached under the doormat to retrieve a key and unlocked the door. The house was quiet, and Jaskier was glad for it. Tentatively he rolled his wrist. It was painful but not too bad, most likely sprained and thank God not broken. As he walked past the kitchen he put the bloody knife on the counter, cursing at the trail of blood his bleeding hand left behind. He didn’t think of washing the blood from his wounds or dressing them, he just needed someone to hug him, someone to tell him it was okay, he was okay. 

Relief flooded his heart and made his knees buckle when he noticed the soft glow of light coming from underneath Geralt’s bedroom door. They had their individual rooms, so that if one of them needed alone time, they had their own sanctuary. Jaskier thought he heard voices coming from inside it, but it must’ve been his still running mind. Geralt was usually home alone, and if he had company, Jaskier was usually informed. 

On silent feet he walked over and, in his desperate need for comfort he didn’t think to knock, he just opened the door. His mouth opened to announce his arrival, but no words would leave him. The tightness in his chest returned when he saw Geralt in bed. But he wasn’t alone. Yennefer, a very good friend of theirs, was with him. They were facing each other and she was gently stroking his cheek. Jaskier wanted to sneak out of the room, pretend he didn’t see anything, but a sniffle escaped him as he, again, tried to fight back tears. The two of them shot up in surprise and Jaskier bolted.

“Jask! Wait!”, Geralt called after him. But he didn’t wait, he couldn’t. 

Jaskier only made it a few streets down to the park, when he collapsed and just let all of his anger and hurt out. He screamed and pulled his hair, letting the tears escape freely from his eyes. Yet he couldn’t blame Geralt, could he? It was all his fault, it had to be. Yes, Geralt had said he didn’t mind not having sex at all if that was Jaskier’s wish, but had Jaskier really expected that this was the truth? No, he knew this was bound to happen. That still didn’t make it hurt any less

“Jaskier!”, someone called, not long after he had broken down. He ignored it until rough, yet gentle hands took his own to keep him from tearing his hair out. 

“Come on, lark, let’s get you back home, and I’ll explain”, Geralt said softly, and Jaskier nodded, clinging on to the other man, as he was carried back the way he had tried to escape. He felt Geralt looking at the blood on his hand and hoodie strangely, but Jaskier shook his slightly and the other man just grunted and kept silent. 

“Oh, Jaskier! Are you alright?”, Yennefer asked concerned when the two men had returned home. He nodded weakly, and three of them sat down on the soft sofa. Jaskier sat as far away from Geralt and Yennefer as he could, pulling his knees to his chest. 

“Okay, first”, Geralt started, “what happened to your hand?” 

Jaskier shrugged and pointed to the knife. “Valdo found me, and I had to defend myself. Stupidly held it by the blade when I ran”, he shrugged, looking at neither Geralt nor Yennefer. “Look”, he said, “Geralt, I know why you did this. Yennefer can give you what you need, and I just... I can’t. He hurt me too much for that”, Jaskier whispered and then he felt himself falling into a pit of memories, completely detached from the current reality. 

_He was fourteen. Just thrown out of his foster home, and nowhere to go. But there was this strangely beautiful man who had been talking to him for quite a while. He was twice Jaskier’s age, but the boy felt weirdly drawn to him, so that’s where he went._

_He was fifteen. He had lived a year with Valdo and things were beautiful. They were together now. Jaskier knew he was very young, but Valdo loved him-- and he was the first one to do so. He would also be the only one, Valdo always told him. Jaskier believed him. He believed everything Valdo said, did everything he wanted to. Except go all the way. Jaskier still felt too young for it, and even though, every time he refused Valdo, the burning pain of a cigarette being pressed out on bare skin shot through him, his choice was respected._

_He was still fifteen. He didn’t love Valdo as much as he thought-- the man was aggressive and Jaskier did everything he could to ease that anger. With exception of one thing, and that made it worse and he paid dearly for it._

_He was sixteen. Valdo had made him drop out of school. Jaskier was fine with that. No one liked him there anyway. He just didn’t like that he had no way of escaping Valdo’s groping hands. There was no need for him to leave the house so he didn’t. He didn’t need food, Valdo said it would make him fat and ugly. He believed him. Valdo told him he would set up online classes for Jaskier. He never did._

_He was seventeen. He was used to Valdo’s aggression. It still hurt. He still curled up crying. He still shivered and squirmed at the unwanted touches. He never said anything because Valdo was the only one who would ever love him._

_He was eighteen. Valdo was aggressive. He was touching him again, but this time was different. It hurt even more, it went even farther. And then he was dragged by his ankles. He tried to fight, really. He did. Valdo knew how to deal with the fight. In a few quick steps it had been completely carved out of him and he just silently cried. Valdo got what he wanted for four years that day. Multiple times. And Jaskier felt betrayed, he felt so incredibly hurt and used and dirty. And when Valdo wanted him on his bed for the sixth time that day, Jaskier didn’t know what happened to him. Something had snapped. He took the glass vase and smashed it in Valdos face. He regretted it. Instantly. He didn’t stand a chnace in their fight and soon he was on the floor and Valdo was on him and it started where he had left off. Jaskier could not take it anymore. He took a handful of the glassshards painfully digging into his bare back. They cut into his delicate hands, but they stuck perfectly when he pressed them in Valdo’s face. His scream was satisfying. Jaskier pushed him off and ran. Ran like the devil and all his demons were chasing him. At least one of them was._

_He was still eighteen and he was running. It was still the same night but it felt like years. Jaskier was exhausted as he picked the lock of the small, closed restaurant. His hands were shaking. Somehow he still succeeded. He fell through the door. And he cried. He cried his heart out until the lights turned on and he was caught. He looked up. Guilt consuming him. Expecting to be thrown to the streets. To be left to his demise. Left to die alone. Nobody threw him out. He would never be alone again._

Jaskier sobbed into his hands. “It’s just..Geralt, what he did to me. I can’t forget it. Every time someone touches me it’s _him_ again and I just can’t. I do understand why you’d prefer Yennefer”, he whispered. 

Geralt gently took his hands. “My dear lark, my beautiful buttercup”, he said soflty. “I never knew how bad it really was and I am so sorry. You need to understand, Jask, I love you for yourself. I have loved you for five years, and I will not stop loving you. Just because you don’t want sex, doesn’t ruin anything for me. I want to be with you because your presence lights up the room, because you are sweet and kind and caring and beautiful. And you make me a better person. I would not give you up for anything in this world”, Geralt said, caressing Jaskier’s cheek. The young man blushed.

“But then why...why Yennefer…?”, he mumbled. The woman smiled and her purple eyes shone bright with love. She took Jaskier’s hand too. 

“As much as Geralt loves you, Jask, he loves me too”, she said. “And to be honest, I love him too, and my little lark, I also love _you._ The both of you”, she smiled. 

Jaskier’s larkspur eyes jumped from Geralt to Yennefer. His mind didn’t quite process what was happening. Valdo always said no one but him would love Jaskier. And he had believed, had even held onto it in the back of his mind when he was with Geralt. He just couldn’t fathom that two people were confessing their love, holding him gently, not forcing him to do anything, not wanting him to be someone else. 

As he looked deep inside his heart he realised that Yennefer had a place there very close to Geralt. It might not have been love, but it was a profound affection. He would learn to love Yennefer, as he was still learning to love Geralt. 

“I’m still learning how to love”, he said, his voice quivered, the fear and anxiety he felt in intimate moments had never completely faded, and now it was fresh. Valdo had left a mark back then and he had to come today to make sure he was still imprinted in Jaskier. And, oh, how he was. But marks could fade, and Jaskier wanted nothing more. 

“Then Geralt and I will teach you. Together”, Yennefer whispered, kissing his forehead. Jaskier found himself leaning into her touch, and Geralt wrapped his arms around the two of them. 

“I love the both of you”, Geralt mumbled deeply. 

“I love the both of you too”, Yennefer replied. 

“I think I do too”, Jaskier whispered. The words _I love you_ were so hard for him to say. He cursed Valdo for that. He couldn’t show affection, neither verbally nor physically, and it was all because of that devil. 

Jaskier would learn though. He had two wonderful lovers to teach him. He would learn to say _I love you_ without fear. He would learn how to say no. He would learn that his opinion mattered. He would learn how to show affection.

He would learn to love.


End file.
